


You Don't Count As People (is the highest praise I can give)

by MycroftRH



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Autistic Character, Autistic Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Autistic and ADHD Solidarity, Blanket Permission, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Getcher Warm Fuzzies Here, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Podfic Welcome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch Aversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftRH/pseuds/MycroftRH
Summary: Geralt was a mutant long before he was left in the woods.  He's different in a lot of ways, and many hurt, but Jaskier makes a few easier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 309





	You Don't Count As People (is the highest praise I can give)

Geralt’s never taken well to being touched, even as a child. An embrace would send him squirming away, other children playfully tumbling against him made him snarl. After a century of traveling and being hit, sneered at, shoved; after Blaviken; after countless bruises he couldn’t defend against without proving himself a Butcher - after all that, he can barely stand being touched at all.

He can handle it in certain situations - fucking, fighting - thanks to rushing blood allowing him to pull his mind just far enough away. But if he’s walking through a town, or sitting in a tavern, he’s constantly trying to push down the fear that someone’s arm will brush his and send that suffocating full-body sickness through him, like nausea but rippling across his skin. Every muscle tensing, every fiber tightly fighting between the instinct to _get away_ and the trained knowledge that a Witcher reacting violently around others never ends well.

He avoids crowds whenever he can, sleeping in the stable with Roach if he has to in order to avoid a tightly packed room or a forward barmaid.

He’s forced himself indoors to satisfy his hunger and thirst - the barkeep won’t let him take his meal outside - when a bard starts prancing about, not seeming to quite notice when the crowd is about to turn on him. The bard, retreating from a culinary assault, heads to Geralt’s table, completely heedless of his warning glare. Geralt doesn’t realize then that the awkward meeting is going to change quite a bit, for him.

Jaskier sees very quickly that Geralt doesn’t want to be touched, and from then he’s always careful to keep his hands clear even without any forceful reminders. After a few months, he’s also seen Geralt’s tensed, suppressed panic when someone else’s shoulders bump against his in a street, or an overly fearless hand gets past his notice and reaches to his hair, or his arm, or his hip.

Geralt doesn’t understand what’s happening, at first.

He’s trying to get out of talking to a working girl when she moves her hand towards his, and he starts to freeze before Jaskier’s suddenly there, between them. He’s chattering like a jackdaw, arms waving about in enthusiasm, and in moments the lady has somehow moved halfway across the room.

He notices Jaskier starting to walk a bit closer to him when they’re on roads in town - never close enough to make his skin prickle, though he’s found Jaskier can get nearly against him now without that happening, but closer than before. He realizes after a bit that Jaskier always places himself street-side from him, like a chivalrous gentleman protecting his lady from uncareful coachmen.

It’s when a drunkard goes to shove at his chest and Jaskier throws himself against the offending arm just in time, bodily blocking him, standing in front of Geralt and drawing the soak’s ire, that Geralt understands. Jaskier, his little songbird, is protecting him. He saw Geralt’s vulnerability, and he took it upon himself to act as guard.

Geralt doesn’t comment, never mentions what he’s finally recognized after far too long. But he’s quite a bit more free about coming into town when Jaskier’s there. He can even, eventually, sit at a table and eat with carousers all around him and not have his shoulders tensed to pain - or at all. Because he knows Jaskier’s eyes are scanning carefully, watching for threats even while his mouth babbles on and his hands flutter through the air.

He’s not quite acquainted with the concept of “comfort”, but he thinks this might be it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to have at least one more chapter, in which Geralt has a meltdown or shutdown as a result of sensory overload, but it's fully standalone as is.


End file.
